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"There we are, My Lady," Mrs Cartwright announced once the lacings on the gown were finally finished. "Now, My Lady, the previous lady of the house, God rest her soul, liked to partake in tea and biscuits after dressing before breakfast," she explained, gesturing towards the tray that she had carried in with her. "May I pour you a cup?"
"Oh, umm … yes, please," Penelope responded, though her mind was already whirling about how she might be able to slip away, she realised just how parched she was after sleeping so long.
Never had she slept in so late, and she found herself glancing around the ornately decorated room for a clock, hoping to figure out exactly what time it really was. Her heart leapt into her throat when she found the clock on the mantelpiece across the room.
It is almost eight!The summer sun had to have risen hours ago, and she should have been gone from the manor along with its touching the horizon. Yet here she was, waiting for Mrs Cartwright to pour her a cup of tea.
"Please, My Lady, sit," Mrs Cartwright gestured her to the chaise longue positioned close to the end of the bed, and Penelope was forced to do so, taking the teacup and saucer from the housekeeper.
"I am sure that once you are married, maybe even sooner than that, the duke shall hire you a lady's maid if you do not have one, My Lady." The woman smiled warmly, watching Penelope sip the tea as if she were a toddler who might spill it at any moment and need help to clean herself up. "But for now, I am afraid we shall have to make do."
Penelope smiled in response, trying to hide her surprise at the sweetness of the tea in her mug. As a servant, she was not accustomed to the drink, and after having watched Betsy prepare it several times, even doing it herself sometimes, she had never imagined it would taste that way. It took her quite off guard.
"Breakfast will be served in the morning room," Mrs Cartwright continued as she moved busily about the room, checking that everything was in its proper place before she picked up a hairbrush and turned to ask, "Do you require help with your hair?"
"Umm … yes, please," Penelope responded in the hopes of using it as an excuse to come up with some reason for skipping out on breakfast. Not only was she entirely unsure about what the morning room was – perhaps the parlour or maybe even a smaller dining room specifically for breakfast – she also wanted to be well on her way before anything else could go wrong.
I have stayed here long enough,she told herself firmly. Though she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of someone else taking care of her for a change. For so long she had been used to doing everything for Clara and her mother.
From helping them dress in the morning to ensuring that their tea was just right and some other far worse chores that she would much rather forget, like handling their dirty and soiled clothing and other such delicate matters. It was a hard existence, and she didn't envy Mrs Cartwright for having to do it on top of everything else that a housekeeper already had to do.
The housekeeper back in France had always looked exhausted, and close to her wits’ end, yet Mrs Cartwright seemed quite content, pleased even.Perhaps it is because she gets to work alongside her husband,Penelope thought, wondering for a moment just what it would be like not to be alone in one's work but to always have someone to share in it, someone with whom she could share her joy and her woes.
"Mrs Cartwright, Ada," Penelope corrected herself the moment she felt the housekeeper pause, "I am not entirely sure I feel up to breakfast this morning."
"Oh dear, are you well, My Lady?" the housekeeper asked, quite concerned.
"Oh, yes, perfectly well," Penelope assured her, quickly trying to come up with a lie that was as close to the truth as possible. "It is just that I don't believe I have quite got my land legs back, and I am feeling rather queasy."
"Ahh, of course, My Lady," Mrs Cartwright responded as she brushed Penelope's hair, tying it back in a ribbon that matched her day dress. "I do believe I have a remedy for that."
Penelope gritted her teeth, instantly fearing that she knew all too well what the housekeeper would suggest. She waited, holding her breath.
"A tour of the manor is exactly what you require for finding your land legs again," the housekeeper announced, and Penelope's mind began to race.How am I supposed to get out of this one?
It was next to impossible for Penelope to get away from the housekeeper all morning, not until she had shown her the entire townhouse right from the door leading down to the kitchens to the top of the third floor where a beautiful semi-circle window looked out over London from a most comfortable looking window seat.
Perhaps if she had not been so distracted by thoughts of trying to escape the housekeeper, to get away from the house and London altogether before the Comte and his family came looking for her, she night have found the townhouse exquisite.
Yet standing there, forced to look at the gallery portraits of all the dukes who had come before alongside their families, she couldn't think of anything but her escape.I can't allow myself to be distracted,she told herself even as her curious mind threatened to become led astray by her thirst for knowledge and love of history, art, and beauty.
With every step around the townhouse, it became increasingly difficult, and she stopped looking for escape routes, instead searching for things to preoccupy her mind, helping her to forget for a few minutes that she was practically on the run for her life and freedom.
By the time Mrs Cartwright finally ended the tour, leaving her in an open and airy parlour with the promise to return with refreshments, Penelope realised she had spent far too much time at the manor.
Finding herself alone for the first time since she awakened that morning, she glanced at the grandfather clock standing opposite the fireplace and gulped. It was almost noon. More than that, it was a miracle that the duke and his sisters hadn't already arrived.
"I need to leave now," she determined aloud, hoping it would finally give her the push she needed to be on her way. Lifting a hand to her bosom, she felt for the coin purse she had hidden there that morning during a moment when the housekeeper hadn't been looking.
She had little left of the coin she'd left France with, and she could only hope it would be enough to last her until she could figure out exactly what to do next. First things first, she had to figure out how to get past Mrs Cartwright and the other servants who were milling about, waiting for their master and his sisters to arrive.
After all this time touring his home, a part of Penelope thought it would be rude not to stay and meet him and at least assure him how beautiful his home was, but deep down, she knew the truth. That would only make her getaway twice as hard, if not entirely impossible.
The moment the housekeeper left her in the parlour, Penelope perched on the edge of the seat she had felt inclined to take and listened with her ears pricked for the sound of the kitchen door clicking shut.
Then she continued to listen, hoping for silence. When all she picked up was the sound of tweeting birds coming through the open window, Penelope quickly drew herself to her feet and crept towards the double glass doors that led out onto the patio and into the rear garden of the townhouse.
Holding her breath to open the door, she winced when the handle squeaked and paused, waiting to be sure that nobody had heard it before gently pulling the door open. Heart hammering so hard in her chest, she was sure it could be heard if anyone drew close enough; she discreetly slipped out onto the patio with her eyes and ears alert for any signs that she was not alone.
